Dreamrider (3 page)

There was a silence for a few moments. Miss Palmer looked me over. She was deciding whether to bring up the subject of my weight. I was interested to see if she had the courage.

‘Michael, I wish I could give a guarantee you won't be bullied here, but we both know I can't do that. Kids are, I'm afraid, pretty much the same wherever you go, and some are not very tolerant of . . . differences. What I
can
say is, the school won't tolerate bullying of any kind. We take the matter very seriously. However, we can't do much if we don't know it's happening. I want you to promise, Michael, that you will report straight to me if you have a problem, and I'll nip it in the bud. Do you promise?'

‘Yes, Miss,' I said, though it was a lie. It wasn't as easy as that. Miss Palmer knew it too. I could tell from her eyes.

‘Okay,' she said. ‘Well, let's hope it's not necessary. Most of the kids here are decent. But there is a minority. . . Anyway, time to take you to Home Group.'

I picked up my bag and followed her down the corridor. We walked through a courtyard with a patch of grass and a few benches scattered around. The windows of the building crowded me. I felt I was being watched. Everywhere was silent. I tried to fix the scene in my mind. I do that all the time. It helps when I'm spotting differences. It's become a habit.

We went up a flight of stairs and along another corridor. The inside of the school was in a bad state. The walls hadn't been painted in years and there were cracks in the tiles. Classroom doors were scuffed and paint was peeling. There was a smell of dampness.

‘This is A Block,' said Miss Palmer. ‘The rooms are numbered according to the floor. This is the first floor, so the first number is always a ‘1' here. Mr Atkins will give you a student diary which has a map in it. You'll get used to it. Your Home Group is in A15. Here we are.'

We stood outside the door for a moment. This was always the worst time, wondering what was on the other side. Then again, the first day was full of worst times. The first lesson, the first teacher, the first student you had to sit with, the first recess. I composed my face. There was nothing for it but to go in.

The footsteps were loud on the tiles. Miss Palmer and I turned at the same time. A boy was walking towards us. He had red hair and a damp patch on the sleeve of his T-shirt. I turned my eyes quickly back to the door of A15.

‘Jamie Archer,' said Miss Palmer. ‘Why aren't you in Home Group?'

‘Had to clean my shirt, Miss. Some Wrenbury spilled iced coffee over me.'

‘Just hurry, Jamie.'

I could hear his footsteps down the corridor. I could feel his eyes on the back of my neck.

‘Do you want me to come in and introduce you?' asked Miss Palmer.

I shrugged.

‘No thanks, Miss.'

I knew that would only make it worse, like a kid being brought in by his mum. Miss Palmer seemed to understand.

‘I'll leave you here, then,' she said. ‘Have a good day, Michael. And remember what I said about bullying.'

She started to walk off.

‘Miss?' I said.

‘Yes, Michael?'

‘What's a Wrenbury?'

She pinched the top of her nose and closed her eyes.

‘Wrenbury is a place, Michael. It's a local school for students with special needs.'

I nodded. That made sense.

There were sounds coming from behind the closed door, a quiet murmur of conversation, punctuated by a giggle or a shout. I waited until Miss Palmer had disappeared down the corridor, took a deep breath and opened the door.

3
.

It was as if I had flicked a switch. Everyone in the room went quiet and sixteen or seventeen kids turned to stare at me.

I went red. I couldn't help it. It always happened, no matter how hard I fought. I stood in the doorway and tried to take in as much of the room as possible while keeping my head down. Eye contact didn't seem like a good idea.

The classroom was lit by a bank of windows along the far side of the room. Desks were arranged in groups and the sun slanted across the back two. ‘I love dick' was written across the back of one chair in black texta. Most of the desks had graffiti on them, and plastic was peeling where kids had scraped metal rulers across the edges. The ceiling had strip lighting in panels and a few were cracked. One light flickered. But it was a nice room. I liked it. The sun shining on the back wall gave it warmth. It was a place where someone could be happy.

To my right was a whiteboard. In front of that was a teacher's desk. Sitting behind the desk, marking a roll, was a teacher, Mr Atkins presumably. He was chewing on a pen. He stood and came towards me. Mr Atkins was tall, about fifty years old, with thinning grey hair. His eyes sparked with humour and friendliness. But I also noticed that the spark was only on the surface; I could read unhappiness beneath it.

‘You must be Michael,' he said, offering his hand.

I moved to take it, but at the last moment he withdrew and reached up towards my face. I took a half step backwards, but it was too late. He tapped my nose lightly and then withdrew his hand and opened it. In the palm lay a shining two-dollar coin. He grinned and a groan ran around the class.

‘Take no notice of these cynics, Michael. They are worldweary and far too old for their tender years.' He leaned towards me, as if to whisper a secret. ‘You and I know there is always, always room for wonder and that if we do not embrace the impossible then the only thing we are left with is the plain and ugly world of the possible. How dull!'

He extended his hand again, the coin gold against the white of his palm. This time I took it and he gave my hand a firm shake. There was no metal hardness as I pressed back. The coin had disappeared. Mr Atkins winked at me.

‘We've been expecting you. Welcome to Home Group 21, the worst Home Group in the entire school, full of delinquents, losers and the terminally dysfunctional. If you fall into this category, Michael, then you have found your spiritual home. If not . . . and if I am any judge, you are none of those things . . . then just sit back and enjoy the show.'

He put his hand on my shoulder and turned to face the class.

‘Losers and delinquents, may I introduce Michael, the new member of our Home Group. Now, if it wasn't bad enough that he drew the shortest of straws in getting allocated to us, Michael also suffers from knowing no one in the entire institution. Michael has come from interstate. Why, you might ask – and it would be a good question, since anyone who has been here for a few months understands that the rational thing is to head away from this place rather than towards it. Be that as it may, Michael is here, for good or ill, and we need to allocate him a mentor, someone to show him around, point out where the smokers go to get away from teachers, usher him in the direction of the culinary centrepiece of this wonderful place of learning, the canteen, and generally show him what's what. I need a volunteer. Lauren. Thank you very much.'

The class hadn't moved and there were certainly no volunteers, but I could see this was going to be Mr Atkins's style. He sighed theatrically and led me towards a group of girls at the back. One of the girls had a small smile on her face. Her eyes told me she liked Mr Atkins.

‘Lauren, my dear,' said Mr Atkins. ‘You do understand that when I was referring to losers and delinquents, you were the exception to the rule, a shining light in the otherwise bleak assemblage of those who pass for students in this place. Lauren, meet Michael. Michael, this is Lauren Moss. One of Millways High School's finest. Lauren, take care of him. He seems a decent boy and we don't want him corrupted too soon, now do we? Michael, I leave you in Lauren's tender care.'

Mr Atkins winked at both of us and disappeared back to the front of the class. I shuffled from foot to foot, while Lauren looked me up and down. She didn't seem impressed.

‘So what do you need to know, Michael?' Lauren said. She said it pleasantly, but there was an edge to her voice, a hint of irritation. Even as she spoke, her gaze switched back to her friends.

‘I dunno,' I said. ‘I don't know what I need to know.'

‘Oh,' said Lauren. She wasn't listening. Suddenly I made a decision. It was easier this way.

‘I'll be okay,' I said. ‘Go back to your friends, if you want.'

‘You sure?'

She didn't try to hide her eagerness.

‘Yeah.'

‘I can meet you at recess, if you want. Show you around.' She was attempting a trade-off so she'd feel better.

‘Nah. I'll be right.'

‘Well, if you're sure.'

So she returned to her friends, while I shuffled to a space at the back of the class and sat, gazing out the window. I didn't even notice when someone else approached from my right. A shadow fell and I glanced up.

It was the girl from outside. The girl with the kind eyes. I risked a closer look, darting my eyes between her face and the tiles on the floor. Her dark hair came to her jawline and then swept up and under. She was plump. Nothing like my size, of course, but definitely rounded. Her eyes were deep and brown, filled with kindness. It was all I could do not to stare at them. I glanced back at the floor, briefly taking in a nose that was slightly too wide and a mouth that turned down at the edges. She was not pretty, not really. But there was a warmth about her.

I took all this in quickly. I even risked checking out the classroom. The other students had returned to their conversations, but I could tell by their sidelong glances that they were weighing me up, so to speak. A couple of the boys were leaning in to each other and laughing.

The girl sat next to me and smiled.

‘Hi, again. I'm Leah McIntyre. Pleased to meet you.'

‘Michael Terny.'

She smiled at me for a moment, as if unsure what to say next.

‘Phew. You're a big one, Michael,' she said finally, but her eyes gave the true story. She wasn't being nasty. She was being honest. I liked that.

‘Yeah,' I said. ‘Fattest kid you've ever seen, probably.'

‘Yep,' she said. ‘And I've seen a few. Not that I've got anything to shout about.' She patted herself on the stomach. ‘A little too fond of the cakes.' She laughed. ‘Well, it's more of a love affair, really.'

I smiled. I knew exactly what she meant.

‘Do you get shit about your weight?' she asked.

I shrugged.

‘Hmm.' She thought for a while. ‘Anyway, fat Mick, let's see your timetable. I might be able to help you out.'

‘It's Michael,' I said. ‘Fat Michael to you.'

She grinned. I liked her. I didn't care that the other students were laughing at us.

When the bell went for first lesson, Mr Atkins took me to the door. He gave me a student diary and a pat on the back.

‘A small token of our esteem and respect,' he said.

For some reason, as I walked down the corridor, I felt inside my pocket. My hand closed around a coin. I didn't need to take it out to know that it was a two-dollar coin. A gleaming two-dollar coin that hadn't been there before.

I had Maths first. I sat at the side of the class. If you sit at the front, you get marked as a nerd, and you can't sit at the back. That's where the tough kids hang and I didn't want to provoke anyone.

Some kids stared at me and whispered behind their hands. They didn't laugh out loud, but only because the teacher was strict and glared at anyone who made a noise. That suited me. English was next and that was okay as well. The teacher was friendly enough, but without much control over the class. A couple of the boys made snide comments, but she either didn't hear or decided to ignore them. Again, that was fine. Anything to avoid trouble.

At recess I wandered out to the oval. Leah had offered to meet me but I'd said I would be fine. I didn't want her to feel obliged. She'd want to spend time with her friends, after all. Anyway, I needed to explore by myself. I had to find my place and I could only do that alone. I always found a niche, at every school. Somewhere that felt right, where I could be by myself. It's difficult to describe, but I always knew it when I found it. In our new house, for example, it wasn't my bedroom, it was the steps outside the laundry. It felt good there. Quiet. I knew there would be a place like that somewhere in the school grounds. It was just a case of finding it.

I skirted groups of kids littering the oval and ignored their stares. There was a tree away from the main area and I headed towards it. It was a hot day and I needed shade. Most of the other trees already had groups of kids under them. I sat under my tree and faced the oval. I didn't want it to seem like I was staring at anyone.

I opened my lunch bag and found the treat Mary had packed. It was a big slab of chocolate cake, already starting to melt in the heat. I picked up a piece and it crumbled in my fingers. I had a chunk almost to my mouth when I stopped. I thought of Leah. She liked cake. Maybe it would be nice to save it for her. Then again, she might think I was hitting on her. It was a problem.

A shadow fell across my feet. I looked up. The shadow belonged to a boy. His eyes were brown. And hard.

‘This place is out of bounds,' he said.

‘Is it?' I said. ‘I didn't know. I'm new.'

‘Yeah, I know. You think I wouldn't have noticed you before? You're a little difficult to miss, mate.' He squatted down next to me. ‘You like cake, eh?'

I shrugged.

‘Figures,' he said. ‘So how many of those do you have a day? I mean, to get to your size, you must get through, what . . . five or six?'

I didn't say anything, but I looked around for differences. It's instinctive. I couldn't see any, though. The boy sighed.

‘Listen, mate. When I ask a question, you answer. Is that clear?' His voice was calm, as if explaining something simple to someone of limited intelligence. There wasn't any anger or aggression in it. And that scared me.